


Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

by TaniaRose



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, OT3, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2018-04-22 23:11:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4854242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TaniaRose/pseuds/TaniaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life of an agent is easier when there’s no one under your skin. He still doesn’t even really know how Illya and Gaby got in to begin with. It happened as naturally as day becoming night, or the sea meeting the shore.</p><p>In which, wounded and possibly dying in a ditch with only Illya keeping him alive while Gaby goes for help, Napoleon Solo re-evaluates how he feels about love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently without a beta, so please do point out any errors to me if you find them. 
> 
> The title of this fic is taken from the Nina Simone song of the same name, because I've been listening to her a lot thanks to the Muncle soundtrack.

Chaos surrounds them. 

An alarming amount of bullets and bodies keep flying through the air and Napoleon can only duck and dive and seek cover, shooting his gun off at random and hoping he hits the right targets, such is the level confusion.

Amongst the melee, Illya and Gaby are doing their bit to fend off their would-be assassins and get themselves to freedom. Gaby’s gotten good with a gun, and if he had the chance Napoleon would complement her on her aim.

Squeezing off a few more bullets, Napoleon realises things are finally getting under control. He tries to get his bearings, when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees a man on the roof, rifle aimed directly at Illya’s head.

Napoleon doesn’t think about it as he makes a lunge for his partner, barely managing to shout a warning before they both tumble to the ground, tangled up in each other. The impact knocks the wind right out of Napoleon and he struggles, gasping, his vision blurring as his world is knocked from its axis. Before he has time to think much more, Napoleon is being hauled up to his feet and he’s running, Illya practically dragging him along and Gaby calling something from behind as she covers them. Napoleon can’t make her words out. Everything sounds strange, like he’s got his head half underwater.

They make it to safety; a large ditch on the edge of the fields and woodland they’ve found themselves in. It’s dark and Illya orders everyone to stay down, be quiet. Napoleon mourns for the suit he’s wearing that’s now going to be ruined, feeling damp mud and water already getting all over him. 

Several moments pass and things become still, the sound of their enemies fading away as they give up on the chase…at least for the moment. 

“Is everyone alright?” Illya asks, breathless and rushing from the adrenaline. 

“Fine,” Gaby replies.

“Yes, fine,” agrees Napoleon. “Damn, that was - ”

A sharp flare of pain crushes into him, cutting him short as he gasps out a strangled sound of shock. 

He grits out a curse, because he’s been _shot_ and how could he have not noticed until now, when he feels like he’s on fire and doesn’t know anything but this raw agony unlike anything he’s ever experienced.

“Napoleon? Napoleon!”

Illya is on him in an instant, pawing at him to try and locate the wound in the darkness.

“Dammit!” Illya curses. “Gaby, in the bag. There should be a flashlight.”

She rifles through their supplies, hitting the jackpot. Napoleon is gasping for air like a fish out of water, breathing proving more difficult than it ever should.

“Where, Napoleon?” Illya demands. “Where were you hit!”

Near his shoulder. Napoleon can feel it now, feel the blood, warm and sticky, trickling down his arm. Mud and blood stains and a £250 suit. Just perfect. Gaby holds the flashlight and although it’s hard to make out the rusty red flowing against the dark blue of Napoleon’s suit jacket, he can feel the spread getting worse.

“It looks bad,” she says, failing miserably to suppress the panic in her voice. “He needs a hospital.”

“No time!” Illya snaps. “He needs a tourniquet right now or he’ll bleed out before we can even get back to the car. Help me get his shirt off.”

Napoleon grits his teeth, knowing this won’t be pleasant. Just the smallest movement as Illya and Gaby try to better prop him against the side of the ditch makes him curse and nearly fade out, but he knows he has to stay alert. It’s just an arm wound, upper left, but Napoleon won’t risk slipping into shock. He’ll get through this, it’s nothing, and before they know it they’ll be back in their beautiful hotel having tea and scones, laughing death in the face once again.

“Hold still, Cowboy,” Illya orders, then adds a sympathetic “this will hurt.”

No kidding. 

It takes several minutes of blinding white hot torment for Illya to get Napoleon’s jacket, then shirt off of him and, shred the shirt into strips and finally fasten the tatters around the wound. Only sheer force of will stops Napoleon from screaming bloody murder, but he can’t help the few sobs that manage to break free.

“It’s okay,” Gaby soothes, and she’s by his side brushing sweaty, matted hair from where’s it’s fallen into Napoleon’s eyes, her hand soft against his skin. “It’s okay, Napoleon. We’re here. You’re going to be fine; just get through this.”

“Going to lose the arm,” mumbles Napoleon, only vaguely aware of what he’s saying. It’s dark and cold. Suddenly it’s gotten so cold. He can feel himself shivering, and, hell, forget the arm…this is dying. It has to be. The pain is too great, and Napoleon feels strange, like he’s getting more and more disconnected from the earth around him. Gaby and Illya somehow seem impossibly far away. Napoleon’s fading, from consciousness and them.

Something smacks against his face. A hand. Illya’s hand. Napoleon’s eyes open. He hadn’t realised he’d closed them.

“No! You have to stay with us, Napoleon!” Illya barks, and there’s an edge to his voice that Napoleon must be wrongly identifying in his delirium, because it sounds like…fear? 

Except it can’t be. Illya’s never afraid. He’s a lot of other things, some more becoming than others, but never afraid.

“Illya, he looks bad,” Gaby’s saying, her own fear out in the open as she can’t force any pretence. “We can’t stay here. It’s quiet. I can go and find the car and - ”

“Out of the question!” snaps Illya. “You could get shot too!”

“I’m small, I’m quick, and it’s dark. There’s not far to go and I’m armed,” she protests, and Napoleon thinks he wants to marry her, this amazing woman who is fighting for him.

“I said no! You stay here.”

Napoleon knows it’s not that Illya doesn’t think Gaby capable. It’s that Illya’s scared of losing her, that he’ll see it as his fault if Gaby makes a run for it and gets hurt and he didn’t try to stop her. Napoleon doesn’t want Gaby to go alone either but it’s the only chance they have, and he believes in her.

“You can’t order me around. I am your equal, not your subordinate,” Gaby shoots back. “Napoleon needs a doctor. You stay here and keep him alive. I’m leaving.”

There’s a heavy silence.

“Illya,” Gaby softens. “I can do this. You know I can.”

The next pause seems to draw out for a lifetime, before Illya sighs.

“Go. Be careful.”

Gaby gives Illya a parting kiss, then returns her attention to Napoleon, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it gently.

“Solo, if you’re not alive when I get back, I’ll raise you from the dead so I can kill you myself.”

Napoleon feels her lips lingering on his long after she’s gone.

* * * *

“Napoleon?”

He hears his name as though it’s being carried on a breeze from far away. His eyes have drifted shut again so he opens them, hoping Illya hasn’t noticed. Gaby left them the flashlight and Illya holds it in one hand while his other arm is around Napoleon, shielding him against the elements.

Napoleon is freezing. After Gaby left, Illya managed to get Napoleon’s suit jacket back on in a half on/half off haphazard way, before taking off his own coat and placing it over Napoleon like a blanket, even tucking Napoleon in. If he wasn’t so out of it, Napoleon would have been utterly mortified. As it was, he huddled into the warmth and let Illya hold him close, glad he wasn’t alone. 

Until Illya and Gaby he wouldn’t have cared about being by himself in this mess. He was used to that. He’s been shot before. And stabbed, beaten, electrocuted and more, and he never let a single dent from any of it stick in his armor. No one cared if he lived or died and he had no one he’d be sorry to leave behind.

It’s all changed now. He has two people who’d care all too deeply if anything happens to him. In most ways it’s…nice, to have that bond and all the understanding and affection that comes with it. In others it’s still something he’s been struggling to get used to. A burden, of a sort, although admitting it makes Napoleon feel like the biggest ass. It’s just…the life of an agent is easier when there’s no one under your skin. He still doesn’t even really know how Illya and Gaby got in to begin with. It happened as naturally as day becoming night, or the sea meeting the shore.

“Hey,” Illya’s voice brings him back from wherever he was drifting off to. “Still with me, Cowboy?”

Gaby’s been gone for a while. Or, it feels like a while. Napoleon has no concept of time out here, in this random ditch on the edge of some field deep in the English countryside. Above, the sky is cloudy, with just a few stars here and there managing to shine through.

Napoleon offers a non-committal murmer in response to Illya. He feels so tired. To be able to just close his eyes and go to sleep would be to go to Heaven itself. It’s not like the real one would ever let him in, not that he believes, but…

“I hope that was a ‘yes’,” Illya says. “You’re too quiet. Talk to me.”

Talk? Now? Peril’s got to be kidding. 

“’m here,” manages Napoleon, his throat so scratchy and dry he would kill some for water if he could. They have none in the small bag of supplies Illya has, just things likes bullets, knifes, cutting equipment…all of it totally useless right now, save for the flashlight. “Wish we had some water.”

“Sorry,” Illya sighs. “Gaby should be back soon, if…”

If she’s alright. Illya’s doubts for her safety went unspoken but hung in the air anyway, weighing it down like a boulder.

“How long’s it been?” Napoleon asks, shifting as much as he dare for more warmth. 

It’s so cold.

“Twenty minutes,” Illya replies. “We should never have let her go.”

Napoleon wants to snort.

“Come on, Peril. You know, Gaby…” Napoleon smiles as best he can through the pain. “Helluva girl.” 

“Anything could have happened to her out there. We don’t even have our radios. This whole operation has been a mess.”

Illya’s right about that. 

They’d been sent to England to break into a suspected THRUSH base in which millions of dollars worth of stolen American owned diamonds were being stored, according to one of Waverly’s contacts. Pre-mission intelligence had suggested the base was not being used as anything but a storage facility and would have just had a couple of guards keeping watch at most. Based on this information, as soon as Napoleon had seen the place he figured they could make a light workload of this mission and recover the diamonds there and then, before taking an impromptu but well earned early vacation. U.N.C.L.E. had been working their asses off for months, sending them here, there and everywhere with no time to catch their breaths in between. At first it was exhilarating, but by the time they landed in England they were tired and feeling the pressure. Napoleon knows, now, he’d let arrogance and selfishness get the better of him. And, really, it would have been one thing if he’d been on his own and done something that stupid, but he’d put Illya and Gaby’s lives at risk. As he thinks about it, bleeding out in Illya’s arms somewhere in the middle of Yorkshire, he feels ashamed and embarrassed and he knows he’ll never be so sloppy again. This could have cost him a lot more dearly than his own death.

“Sorry,” Napoleon mumbles, because he owes Illya at least this much in way of apology. “Lesson learned.”

“Just don’t die. Then neither I or Gaby will be able to yell at you later.”

Napoleon could actually laugh, but it’s getting harder to keep a focus on anything. He hopes this isn’t the end, dying so pathetically in a ditch of all places. It’s as far away from the blaze of glory he’s daydreamed about as it can get. 

At least he saved Peril. That’s not too bad.

He’s about to fall asleep, unable to fight it any longer, when Gaby returns, car and all. 

“I had to keep out of sight for a while a few times, but I was as fast as I could. It’s all clear now, I think they quit trying to wait us out. Must have been ordered away, or something,” Gaby explains. “Is he - ?”

“Barely,” Illya replies, gently dislodging Napoleon and standing before he bends down and Napoleon feels familiar arms around him, so carefully, like he’s a mere babe. “He needs proper treatment as soon as possible.”

Illya scoops Napoleon up from the mud and water, and Napoleon can’t bite back a cry. The movement is too much as he’s raised out of the ditch, placed on the grass so lllya can climb out after him, and then picked up again, carried like a damsel in distress. As he’s taken the short distance to the car, the last thing Napoleon sees is the clouds drifting through the sky.

* * * *

Napoleon spends a couple of days in hospital before discharging himself, adamant that he’ll have a smoother recovery at the hotel where he’ll be surrounded by creature comforts and able to roam freely. The hospital food might just be more painful than the gunshot wound, and he couldn’t force down anymore if his life depended on it. Illya and Gaby reluctantly take him back, scolding him and mothering him in equal measure. Napoleon lets them; he owes them his life, and he knows how much he scared them. It’s going to be some time before he forgives himself for putting their lives at risk. He’ll never let his excitement and ego get the better of him like that again while they’re working together.

Leaning back into the pillows, Napoleon enjoys the feel of the luxurious feather bed and the decadent beauty of the hotel suite. He’ll never tire of the lifestyle to which he’s become accustomed, being surrounded by fine things and the thrill of not knowing what’s coming next. As soon as he’s cleared for duty, he’ll be diving right back into the job, already feeling more than rested enough. He hopes Illya and Gaby have made the most of the last week, taking some much needed time out to wind down and enjoy themselves before it’s back to all work and far too little play.

Hearing the door to the suite open, Napoleon sits up, smiling as Illya and Gaby come into the room, holding hands and bantering adorably. Gaby’s bemoaning the lack of shopping to be had in this part of the country, wishing they were able to stop briefly in London before they’re due back in New York.

“Nice walk?” Napoleon asks, as Gaby deposits herself next to him on the bed and gives him a greeting kiss. She tastes of apple pie and tea, and Napoleon savours it.

“We checked in with Waverly,” Illya informs him. “He wants us back in the USA on Monday.”

Three days away. Napoleon will be okay to travel by then, thanks to some simply wonderful drugs from the hospital and a private jet waiting at a nearby airfield.

“Also, I would brace yourself, Cowboy. He is really not pleased with you,” added Illya, and…was that a tiny smirk? Illya enjoys Napoleon being disciplined far too much. Still, Napoleon knew Waverly would have something to say regarding Napoleon’s pointless risk taking, and Napoleon’s going to stand there like a good agent and let him say it. He messed up big time, a telling off is the least he deserves.

“Well, it’ll be nice to be home,” Napoleon replies, thinking of his apartment and New York in the fall. “In the meantime, I could really use someone to fluff my pillows and bring me a newspaper.”

Illya rolls his eyes but obliges, helping Napoleon tidy the bedding and rearrange himself, while Gaby rings for room service to bring up a copy of The Times before excusing herself to the bathroom. He thinks again how lucky he is to have these people in his life who would do anything for him, even after he stupidly risked their lives because he sometimes has impulse issues. When they get back to America, he’s going to find a way to return their kindness. Perhaps some trips to the theatre, private boxes and champagne. One of the few things Illya has expressed something other than distaste for in America is the theatre and Gaby’s enjoyed a few Broadway shows, too. And Christmas is coming, so maybe some skating at the Rockefeller Center. Napoleon enjoys spoiling them, and they’ve learned to enjoy letting him.

“Wait. What about the diamonds?” Napoleon asks, because it would be a real shame to let those gems remain in the hands of THRUSH. “Has Waverly written off the mission?”

“He said the diamonds may have been already moved after THRUSH learned we were sniffing around, that we’ll have to wait for further intel. Napoleon, if you do anything so reckless again - ”

“Don’t worry. Nearly dying in a smelly, dirty field like that was more than enough of a wake-up call. By the way, thanks.”

“For what?”

“Saving my life.”

Napoleon so rarely says thank you to anyone the words feel like an alien language on his tongue. He likes it this time, though, and he draws Illya down so he can kiss him, long and sincere.

“I did nothing. Thank Gaby, she was the one in real danger.”

“I just did what anyone would do,” says Gaby, coming back from the bathroom and joining Illya on the bed, crowding Napoleon against the pillows. “We’re a team. Through the good and the bad…and the downright idiotic.”

She winks, and Napoleon chuckles. But she’s far too forgiving, and it’s still taking some getting used to for Napoleon, how easily they’ve come to care for each other and formed this crazy little family. Napoleon realises there and then he will never take advantage of this bond, of the passion and trust he’s never felt so keenly before from anyone or for anyone. 

They make love that afternoon, Napoleon pushing physical discomfort aside because he _needs_ to show his appreciation for every inch of each of them, as he gives himself completely to feelings he would have run screaming from not long ago. They handle him between them like he’s a precious gift, delicate and breakable, until he can’t stand it, and after they lie together in the dusk and languish in a blissed out state of pure affirmation.

Anchored from the storm of emotions that have been swirling through his mind, Napoleon drifts into a peaceful sleep.


End file.
